Writing Fiction by Installment

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Bohemian Masked Women – A Poem

Bohemian Masked Women

Bohemian masked
women
artfully prepare me
a BLT.
My diary is full
of illustrations.
No words.
Words get you in trouble
but drawings
are forever.
Like Mona Lisa.
Some of my drawings
are naughtier then
others but all are
equally bad.
And I am working on one when
Bad Moon Rising
starts playing on
the radio
and reminds me to turn
it off.
I ask what the
risks were to a pilot
from the Civil War
to a raucous man
sitting on the stool
next to me.
He’s wearing camouflage
and keeps staring
at my diary.
He said the only risks
were to the diamonds.
I am sure he is
speaking
in code.
Military jargon.
Like portion control.
But can’t be sure.
Maybe he was just
trying to
tell me to fuck off.
Goes around comes around.
Right on time
my BLT comes
with a glass of milk.
No chips.
But chips are
for diamonds.
And there are not
enough diamonds
in coal.
BLTs and milk are
a deadly
combination.
Or so I was told
by my father.
But he liked beer
so he was
a little biased.
Bohemian masked
women
take away my plate
and glass
when I finished.
There are three
of them
by the way.
And they are
all dressed in
blue jeans
and halter tops.
And masks
of course.